


Reflections

by monophobian



Series: Drabbles [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Overstimulation, Rough Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, this entire thing is just a clusterfuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 06:21:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10327763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monophobian/pseuds/monophobian
Summary: "When had it turned out this way? That the recipe for a good night’s sleep included such unconventional ingredients. It was normal now. Only extreme would override traumatic and they each carried a bountiful heaping of both."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spycaptain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spycaptain/gifts).



> This is another prize from a giveaway hosted on tumblr. The request was for angsty ShiAnko smut, hopefully centered in an ongoing verse where both characters are ex-military. They learn to use each other as coping methods, as well as a balance to their own internal demons. 
> 
> While there are uplifting moments (few and far between), this is far from a happy fic. And the sex is rough -- I would almost call it violent in the intentions, even though it doesn't escalate past bruising. Hope you enjoy!

> **ii.**

It wasn’t the mess in the sink or the pieces of glass still on the kitchen floor. It wasn’t the upturned chairs in the dining room or the few picture frames tilted askew on the walls. It wasn’t the finger-shaped bruises growing on her thighs or the ripped clothing scattered over carpet or the dents in the wall or the rumpled sheets twisted around the bed frame or red welts down the length of his back.

If Anko was being honest with herself – a rare feat when it came to emotional turmoil, long adept at ignoring pesky matters that unbalanced her right off her feet – she knew it was the silence that settled around the house. The silence that spoke of far more than their fight the night before and the satisfying ache of her hips and the physical release of tension that only came from the kind of rough sex they both needed.

Because the silence didn’t drown out her heart. Or her head. The dishes that would be swept up in an hour and trashed were the last from that set, a cheap one she bought on a whim as a temporary replacement for the broken ones from seven months ago. She entertained a faint thought of buying plastic instead.

It had been a loud one, violent even for them. Her temper mixed with his and all combined with this overwhelming sense of dissatisfaction from a source she couldn’t trace boiled over, finally snapping in a vibrant explosion of sparks that ended with equal markings on each other, a cracked headboard, and the kind of rare sleep attributed to only the dead. The kind of sleep she cherished.

When had it turned out this way? That the recipe for a good night’s sleep included such unconventional ingredients. It was normal now. Only extreme would override traumatic and they each carried a bountiful heaping of both. How else were people capable of living past the experiences of human horror? When one’s psyche was built and weathered on the worst of mankind, how could she possibly expect anything but darkness to be comfort?

Her sandals were thick-soled, specially chosen for their rubber lining that protected her feet. First was the broom from the laundry room, then was sweeping up the kitchen. Into the trashcan along with the larger pieces she had dumped in the sink. A mental inventory of what was left in the cabinet – plastic in the future, definitely – and then to make her way through the rest of the house.

He never helped. It was a common source of contention for her, but it was a fact she’d come to accept. Easy for him to break, but never sticking around after to fix. Not that he was gone – that curly head of dark hair was still resting on one of their pillows. It would be easy to wait for him to wake and speak her mind then. She didn’t. Keeping her hands busy kept her mind from listening to the silence.

It didn’t last long. An hour, maybe, of cleaning and righting and rearranging and putting everything back to where it was supposed to go. And even going a bit further to mop the kitchen floor and make sure all the glass was accounted for. Finding a shard in her foot in three days would be the icing on the cake to blow her temper again. So when all of that was completed and the house looked normal – the only normalcy the two of them could ever obtain – Anko was sitting on the couch, feet tucked underneath her, eyes fixed on the eggshell wall, and heart finally insisting on the things she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.

It was more than mutual comfort that kept her there. It was more than their similar pasts, their common demons, their similarities in all the things the military shrink warned her about. No matter how angry his outbursts made her, she stayed for more than the knowledge of just what he could do to her body. And part of her knew that no matter how much damage she inflicted on him in her rages, it was more than her mouth and thighs and slick heat that kept him with her.

Unsettling, that thought was. The realization that she could no longer deny the underlying vulnerability they both sought to forget. But what caught her, what confused her even more than the realization was the source of the unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t from the vulnerability or the deeper connection or even the peripheral knowledge that what they had wasn’t technically good for either of them.

She was unsettled because she found she didn’t care.

***

> **i.**  

“ _Shut up_.” Her snarl spoke for itself, a venomous demand spat from bared teeth as she grappled with him, nails digging in and raking down strong shoulders that were pinning her hips. Her jeans had already been ripped and torn, shoved down and hanging off one leg while his shirt was in tatters. He paused to rip the cloth off, growling at how it restricted his movements and kept him from her.

“ _Shut up!_ ” He was silent except for his breathing, harsh pants in their room as fingers dove in and found her dripping and wanting and just as ready as their fights always made her. But he didn’t need to say anything, not when the movement of clenched jaw and rough hands and dangerous gaze spoke loud enough between them.

She hated how he could do that. How with one look he could speak scathing comments and thoughts and leave her so aware of her own insecurities. Another growl, more guttural this time as she struggled underneath him. Not to throw him off completely, not to end the build of what she needed, what he needed, what they would both fight and claw and gain at the other’s expense. But Anko’s anger was still present and fierce and rivaling Shisui’s outburst and she wanted him underneath her as she punished him for what he did to her.

He didn’t let her, heels and knees somehow finding purchase on the mattress as his hands spread her thighs and kept her wide open. He took the hits to his thighs from her feet, accepted the brunt of pain from her hands as she continued pushing and pushing and pushing, and continued on until he was spearing her with his length, thrusting in completely and filling her in one hard, punishing push. Her next demand for silence was ripped from her throat in a cry instead. His answering cocky, feral grin fueled her anger. And her lust.

Shisui fucked like he fought. Clinically, aggressive, and aggravatingly patient. He knew when to wait and when to strike, when best to use which weapon and right then, he utilized that knowledge completely. His fingers were tight on her thighs, thumbs digging into fleshy muscle just under where he was thrusting into her and using that pain to center her attention. Feel him hammering in and out of her, concentrate on his hips thrusting, acknowledge just how wet he made her and how much she wanted what she so loved to hate.

Her nails raked sharp over his chest in retaliation, right over the peaks of small, flat nipples that had him hissing. But her feet curled around his hips and her back arched as the length of his cock dragged over muscles and nerves and felt so undeniably, unabashedly _good_ that Anko couldn’t fight against him anymore.

She still fought, though. Fought because she needed to and because he wanted it, fought because she didn’t know how to do anything else as he laid her open and used her. There was no other way to describe the way he fucked her, but she didn’t mind. Not when in just a handful of days she would use him. Not when she was currently using his ferociousness to keep the horrific unbalance war had left her in at bay. She knew the violence in his touch as he indulged in her body. She welcomed it. It was home.

She was ready to feel that build, feel her body climb up with each sharp thrust and let herself slowly rise to orgasm. It would come, she knew, from his movements and jerks and the bits of pain still sparking from his grip on her. It wouldn’t be fast, but it would be good, and it would satisfy—

His hand moved and she only paid attention when it was too late. Index and thumb pinched her clit, harsh and sharp and so utterly painful as he forced her to come early. Her body seized against her will, convulsing around his cock as she felt him slow. But those fingers never let up and she thrashed, a grimace on her face from pleasure so acute it was painful and then further as her nerves went into overdrive.

She jerked underneath him, hands and feet trying to shove him off, but Shisui refused. He stilled, buried completely in her and looking down, keeping her spread wide for him as fingers continue playing over her highly sensitive clit. Anko cried, cursed, screamed at him and all he did was smile down at her hips with a dark look in his eye.

A flex of his hips brought him out and then pushed him back in, matching the rhythm of his thumb. It was too much, way too much and she could only sob. Another time, quick and hard as he thrust in and abused her nerves. He must have liked seeing her like that, laid out on the bed and thrashing, utterly unable to stop his assault on her. Hard thrust after hard thrust, each separated by a moment long enough to have her thinking it was over.

But it wasn’t. It wouldn’t be over until he came. And she knew him, knew how ruthless he could be when he wanted something from her. Knew that it didn’t matter how oversensitive she was or that she’d already come – he’d make her come again.

And again and again, it seemed. Pleasure had long since blurred into pain with stark moments of relief in between until she couldn’t form words. Grunts and moans and cries and screams and sobbing pleas for the torment to end. It seemed Shisui had enough when he finally pulled out, his hand leaving her abused clit alone and she almost cried in relief. But that was short lived as he grabbed her hips and flipped her over, watching in wry amusement as her arms tried to push her up only to collapse when he reached around and pinched her clit again.

This time when he thrust into her, he didn’t tease. Pulling almost completely out and then sliding in deep, hitting everywhere she normally wanted him while continuing this punishment. When she could feel the next orgasm closing in – and wasn’t sure if she wanted it or not – he made the choice for her and backed off. Gripped her ass with one hand to hold her still and loop his other arm around her chest. He was just as ruthless to her breast as he was everything else and Anko had no choice but to scream.

Pained tears glistened on her cheeks as he kept fucking her, doing everything that she normally loved, but with a sadistic twist of pain that came with too much pleasure. Anko wasn’t sure how long it lasted, how long he kept her wrung out and exploited, how long he took and took and took what he wanted until teeth and lips on her neck and surprisingly gentle fingers on her clit coaxed her to one last peak.

Her body twitched long after he finished in her, cum dripping out and onto the sheets before she could muster the energy to move. She didn’t go far, a simple grab for a shirt on the floor to wipe between her thighs before she settled back onto the bed. He mourned the loss, enjoying the sight of her thighs stained with his seed, but the complaints held no heat.

She felt a kiss to her shoulder, soft and tentative and all the things that had been absent since the screaming started earlier, a reminder that there was more between them than hateful words and broken glass.

Anko would think more on it in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think! I would love to hear any comments you have with this, as it's exploring new territory for me. Thank you!


End file.
